His Princess was a little bit eclectic, a lot of eccentric, and a big time potty mouth. She was outgoing and loud, but held her friends and family close to her heart. She ranted about everything wrong in the world and her wild passion made him fall hard and fast. His life gave him the middle finger when she opened his eyes to the beauty around him - or right in front of him.

Her ‘Prick-a-Doodle-Do’ was uptight businessman through and through. He never saw the fun in anything and she knew right from the start that she could have fun with this man and get him to open his eyes. He made her see that she didn’t have to always be alone, even when surrounded by people. His knack of bringing out the best in her was what made her fall for him, even if she didn’t want to admit it to herself.

Both of them were raised in ‘high society’, but where one was guided by the rules, one had fun going against them. He was her new boss and she didn’t give two hoots about it, so when she was given an opportunity to express her views about a certain subject, she readily agreed.

It was now her personal mission to make the life of her boss a little harder, while experiencing a little fun along the way.

“Bossman, what are my shoes?” I
asked and leaned back in my chair to put my feet up on his brand new
desk.

“Stilettoes?”

“Wrong, for starters, no one calls
them that these days. They’re either pumps or heels. Normally, if
they’re designer, you just give people that name. What color is my
shirt?”

“Red?” he asked, puzzled at where I
was taking this.

“No, it’s burgundy. My hair is also
in a low twist to the side, but you’d say that it was a ball of
mess on the side of my head. My point is, no female author should
write her male lead so . . . girlie. He shouldn’t know what cut her
dress is or what the exact shade of her nail polish is, because,
putting it simply, men don’t know these things. They don’t want
to know. The second real men start showing an interest, their girl
will never stop asking for their opinions. All men want to do for an
easy life is say ‘Yes, dear’ and scratch their balls while
watching a game,” I ranted. All the while his eyes got wider.

“But why? As readers, we are
basically paying these authors to produce shit work. I don’t want
to read that every male character has a monster cock and can give
award-winning oral sex. No virgin can deep throat on her first go and
the wording, oh my God. Do I really have to read every character
announce that they’re coming like a freight train in every sex
scene. If the sex is good enough, it should be clear to the reader in
the description, not through ‘Incoming orgasm approaching platform
three, please stand clear of the gap!’”

J.C. Clarke lives in the heart of the New Forest in England with her husband and four children. Never a dull moment, her full house provides no shortage of inspiration which fuels her writing. She loves reading and writing a variety of genres in addition to dabbling with graphic art to create book covers, swag and more.